“What did we do differently?” I asked. “Why didn’t it work?”
Adrian opened his mouth, then closed it. “I don’t know. Unless—” He paused, thinking. “The nightmares started right after you went to the mall, right?”
I nodded.
“And that man—did he touch you?”
I nodded again. “Briefly, just my wrist.”
“When you were at my house sleeping, after the nightmare, I was next to you. Maybe to interrupt the connection, which was established by physical touch, that’s exactly what’s required to block it.”
I stared at him. “What does that mean?”
He shifted slightly on the bed. “I mean I think I can’t just be sitting on the floor.” He looked down, and though it was too dark to see if he was blushing or not, his voice definitely made it sound like he was. “I think I have to be touching you to make this work.”
I laughed, suddenly. “I’m really glad Mariana or Dominic or Julian didn’t volunteer for this.”
He smiled, but I could tell he was embarrassed. “I guess I could just hold your hand?”
I yawned mid-scoff. “You need to sleep, too. I’m not going to make you kneel by my bed all night holding my hand.” I looked at him and pushed back my covers. “Just get in already.”
My bed was a twin, barely long enough to fit Adrian. It wasn’t even pushed against a wall, so there was a good chance that one of us was going to fall out. He crawled in beside me and sat. Side by side, we both hung out over the edge slightly.
“You have the tiniest bed I have ever seen,” Adrian said after we’d both sat there for a minute trying to figure out what to do next.
“Yeah. Came with the room.”
Still mostly blind in the dark, I poked his knee, then felt along his calf, trying to figure out what he was wearing, since I couldn’t see him. I patted his six-pack, too.
“Sweatpants and a T-shirt. You came well prepared.”
“Figured I might as well be comfortable.”
“Well, get ready for some ultimate snuggling. You’re gonna be the little spoon.”
“I am not going to be the little spoon.”
I stared somewhere in the vicinity of his face sternly. “My bed, my spoon rules.”
He sighed, which I interpreted as a sigh of resignation, and I pushed him down—which I was only able to do because he let me—and snuggled up behind him. I could feel him pull the blankets over both of us, tucking it in around my shoulders, before settling onto his side. Mostly because there was so little room—but also because I wanted to—I pressed my forehead into the middle of his back and closed my eyes. And then I realized something.
“Wait, do you think there has to be actual skin-on-skin contact?”
After a moment he replied, “That would actually make sense.”
I nodded, and slid my arm over his waist, heart racing mutinously. I knew he could feel it, because my chest was pressed to his spine. After a moment, though, he put his arm over mine, moving my hand until it lay flat against his heart. He covered it with his own, and we lay like that for a long moment, our breathing too loud for the deep silence of the house.
“Caitlin,” he murmured. “If you tell anyone I was the little spoon, there will be consequences.”
I laughed into his shirt. “Admit it—you like being the little spoon. I’m a fantastic big spoon.”
He just snorted and threaded his fingers through mine. Finally, I gave him a little squeeze, burrowed closer into the space between his shoulder blade and the pillow, and fell fast asleep.
When I woke up, Adrian was gone—which was disorienting, even though I’d known he would have to leave before my aunt and uncle were up. When I went downstairs for breakfast, I was extra careful to check if Joe and Rachel had any inclination that someone had been in my room last night, but they appeared to be completely oblivious. Maybe Adrian and I could pull this off, after all.
As restful as my night had been, I’d still gone through two nightmares before we’d figured out how to effectively block the dreams. Backlogged with sleep deprivation, it was only eight p.m. when I said good night to everyone and headed back up to my room. I fell asleep immediately—but everyone else stayed up much later than normal (since it was the holidays now), which meant Adrian was delayed in coming over, which meant I had another nightmare.
When I woke up gasping, Adrian was sitting beside me, eyes already glowing.
“Hey,” he murmured. “You all right?”
I sat up, took in a long, shuddering breath, and leaned my forehead against his shoulder.
“Every time,” I mumbled. “Every time, nothing I do can change what happens. I always lose.”
“What do you mean?”
I rubbed my eyes into his collarbone, frustrated. “In the dreams. It doesn’t matter how much I fight or struggle or run or scream, something bad happens, and I can’t stop it. It’s pissing me off.”